


The Fourth Thing

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Absent Parents, Abusive Parents, Father-Daughter Relationship, Healing, Moving On, Unhealthy Father-Daughter Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's talk about your father, Carolina. Let's talk about the things he did right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fourth Thing

Let’s talk about your dad, Carolina.

Let’s talk about the things he didn’t do.

We don’t have time for that. Let’s talk about the things he did.

No time for that either. The things your father did are recorded in military history, but not in bronze. In black and white, in laws he broke, in UNSC reports you need a certain clearance to access, and in bytes, in encrypted computer files (not just the kind that walk around inside people). No need to talk about the things your father did. It’s all written down, somewhere.

Let’s talk about the things he did right. We have just enough time for that.

When your mother died, he held on to you as you cried. He didn’t do anything else, but at the time, it was comforting.

You saw your daddy cry that night, and it made you feel safe. It meant you weren’t alone (Not yet. But you didn’t know that then.) It meant that it was okay to cry. Your tears soaked his shirt, and his tears fell on your hair and neither of you said anything, but there in that moment you were together, curled around each other on the floor, your arms tight around his neck and curled around your back, face buried in your hair, and he was warm.

So that’s one thing. One thing right. Let’s try to think of another.

The last thing you heard you dad say was “I wasn’t speaking to you.” But he wasn’t speaking to you.

The last thing he said to you was, “You were my greatest creation.”

It’s better than some of the alternatives.

It’s better than, “Could you be so kind as to leave me your pistol?”

It’s better than, “You know what to do.”

It’s better than a lot of things he’s said to you, over the years. It doesn’t make up for the silent moments, the things he should have said and never ever did, but on a scale, it’s better than it could have been. On a scale of the things he’s done, black and white and gray, on his scale, it’s practically sparkling. On his scale.

You learned a long time ago that his scale wasn’t going to be the same as other fathers.

You know that “You were my greatest creation,” is the kind of thing people say to justify what they’ve done to themselves. They don’t realize how it turns you into an object, another project, another thing to be manipulated into success. It is the kind of thing they say in your direction, but is actually spoken to themselves. This is your father’s language. You learned a long time ago that he would always require translation.

You were his greatest creation.

If you were the Carolina of years back, months back, even, you might want to know what he thought he created. You might have been angry that he dared to claim any credit for the woman you had become. You’d say that he only created the Carolina that was tossed off that cliff like so much garbage, the Carolina who woke up at the bottom with no one looking for her. You’d say the woman that came after that, who climbed back up, fought a war, scratched and bit and tore her way back to standing on her own two feet, to sleeping thought the night, he doesn’t get any part of her. But you aren’t that woman anymore, either, although she still breathes under your skin, closer to the surface more some days than others.

But he did create that woman. He provided the color pallet from which your colors were mixed, even if he didn’t wield the brush himself (You know who is responsible for your actions, Carolina, for the things you did. You won’t let him take that from you. You own the dirt on your hands.) The Carolina that stands here, now, is a Carolina made from the things he did, the things he didn’t do, the things you did, the things you let go of. You can be okay with that. You’ll find a way to be.

He didn’t make you kill him, in the end. Three things.

So three things. Three things done right. Tears on your forehead. A better end, better last words than you ever thought you would get. A closed book.

You can’t remember the last time he said he loved you. That’s okay. If you can’t remember, the last time he said it was probably the last time it was true.

**Author's Note:**

> QueSeraAwesome.tumblr.com


End file.
